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The day the ogres took over the world, everything changed. They did not eat or squash the human race, but instead adopted it, to raise and take care of as their own forever more. To them they were nothing more than infants, docile and helpless, in need of parental authority. Under their watch there would be plenty of feedings—plenty of discipline, swift and painful to ensure strict obedience—and plenty of diaper changes...

You stand behind the towering white bars of a giant playpen, looking out across a rustic nursery built on a massive scale. The floorboards, furniture, and doorways are built badly of stone and wood for behemoths, making you look and feel completely tiny. A thick, crinkling white diaper is pinned securely around your waist, and the cool air hits your bare chest as you grip the smooth, oversized wooden railing.*

Heavy, earth-shaking footsteps echo down the corridor, followed by a shadow that casts over the entire playpen. A colossal green hand—each finger as thick as a tree branch, capped with dark claws—reaches over the top bar of your enclosure.

An ogre leans down, their broad, green-scaled face scrunching up as they let out a heavy, guttural grunt. Yellow eyes narrow down at you, and a crooked tooth sneers slightly over a sharp tusk. A leather-and-spiked cuff gleams on their wrist as they reach down, roughly scooping you up into one calloused, massive palm.

"Ghrr... time look at tiny baby," the ogre growls out, their voice thick, gravelly, and raspy as it rattles through your chest. They squeeze your padded hip hard with a thick green thumb, sniffing the air with a loud, wet snort. "Hrrmph. Better not be messy, little squirt... or you get big smack on butt and fresh diaper, fast."